Brush with Death
by Jade Nolan
Summary: When Mac is shot in the line of duty, the team must not only track down his shooter, but they, and Stella in particular, must come to grips with fact that he might not survive. -- 'T' for mild language
1. Chapter 1

It was one of those fall mornings that defied the fact that it was the middle of November. The sun shone warmly down, and the outside thermometer read 62? Yep, 62 alright. Mac smiled and shook his head as he settled on the couch for a late, late breakfast. Or was it an early lunch now? He shrugged and decided he figure out which later. The most remarkable thing about this morning, well, two things really: _a_) this was the 3rd day of 60+ degree weather in row and _b_) he had actually slept in. Granted this was in large part due to a couple god-awful back-to-back shifts that had only finally ended at 0300 this morning. Say what you will about the beautiful weather, the practical truth was that any unexpected non-cold meant trouble would find a way to come right along with it. It happened every spring too, when people poured outside to enjoy new warmth, and existing feuds and old enmities collided suddenly and violently.

Mac propped his feet up on the coffee table and flicked on the TV. The news lady was reporting on the number of violent crimes in the past 48 hr, trying to look shocked, saddened and wise all at the same time but just coming off as bored. Mac shook his head in disgust and changed the channel. No need to tell him about the last 48 hr. He could count on one hand, hell, half a hand, the hours of sleep he'd had in that time frame. Not that there had been anything complicated, but the sheer volume of calls had made laughingly futile his attempts to somehow fit some sleep in the equation. He had at one point only realized he been accidently successful when Danny had shaken him awake at his desk, his left arm numb from lying on it, to go to another stabbing victim. Stella would owe him big for this one. She had asked him to cover her shift and on call night, with that "pretty-please-with sugar-on-top" look that Mac found completely irresistible, and his fate had been sealed. He smiled, remembering, and dug into his breakfast. Yeah, this would be breakfast.

He was only half done when his phone rang. He stared at it as it sat on the coffee table demanding to be answered; an evil omen that, considering the torture it had recently brought him, certainly deserved to be chucked out the window to a shattering death below. Mac wearily picked up the phone and looked at the ID. His misgivings about the phone's intentions were justified when, staring back at him, was the name "Don Flack". And Flack was working today. Heaving a sigh, Mac answered. Maybe it would just be a head's up about a case for when he went back in tomorrow. But that would be too good to be true.

"Taylor."

"Hey Mac! How are you doing?"

"I was doing just fine until you called. Nothing personal."

"I know, I know. Look, I hate to call you on your day off, especially today of all things, but I've got multiple fatalities on this one, and it hasn't slowed down yet."

Mac sighed. The sun was just starting to make its way across the couch. But duty called.

"I'm on my way."

As Mac parked his truck, grabbed his case and stepped out to meet Flack, he had an odd sense of déjà vu. Hadn't he just done this? Oh right, yeah, he thought wryly, he had.

"What do you got, Flack?"

"Armed robbery gone bad. In fact, there have been three armed robberies reported within a square mile of this place in the last 8 hr. Up until now no one's even been touched, just straight up armed theft. This is the first one to go bad, but obviously we're thinking it's the same couple of guys. This one ain't pretty."

Mac grimaced. "Is it ever?"

Flack nodded assent and led the way into a small convenience store. "Mr. and Mrs. Velasquez and Marcus Jimenez," he motioned towards the three bodies lying on the floor. "The Velasquez's owned and ran the store and Mr. Jimenez appears to have been at the wrong place at the wrong time. Best we can figure, Mrs. Velasquez was behind the counter when the perps came in and her husband was taking inventory in the back. His clipboard and record sheets are still back there. There was obviously a struggle of some sort which ended with this," Flack gestured across the scene. "We're reviewing the security camera recording now."

Mac nodded, frowning. "And this happened this morning?"

"Probably a half hour before I called you."

"Unusual to hit a place mid-morning."

Flack shrugged, "Hey, there's been nothin' usual about the last couple days. "

Mac smiled wryly, "True. Any witnesses?"

Flack just looked at him, "Come on. What do you think?" "

Shaking his head, Mac inspected the scene more closely. The owner had been shot in upper abdomen at point blank range, and apparently at an upwards angle based on the entrance wound. "You're definitely right about the struggle," he told Flack. "It looks like they were wrestling for the gun when the owner got shot, his wife came around the counter to help him and gets shot in the chest, and Mr. Jimenez there looks like he was killed as collateral damage. Let me know if you get anything off the security tape. I'm going to start processing."

Flack nodded and headed to the store's small, back room.

Mac was just finishing photographing the scene when he heard a voice behind him.

"Want a hand?"

He turned his head and looked up. Stella was standing, framed in the doorway.

"I thought you were on another call."

"I was. Turned out to be a pretty obvious suicide though. Autopsy should say for sure, but I'd be shocked if it were otherwise. So I cleared there and headed here to bail you out and let you finish having a day off." She looked apologetically and somewhat sheepishly at him, "Heard about yesterday. Sorry Mac. I owe you one."

Mac propped his camera on his knee and looked up at her. "One what?"

Stella gestured, "You know, a day off, a favor, whatever you like!"

A slow smile spread across his face, "Whatever I like?"

"Now, you know what I meant…"

Mac stood and held up his hand, "No, you said, whatever I like."

Stella looked at him giving her that quiet little mischievous grin and shook her head, bemused. "All right. But," she pointed at him, "You can't wait for ages to make up your mind about what it is."

Mac turned and looked back over his shoulder at her as he knelt back down, "Don't worry."

Stella shook her head and smiled as she knelt down next to him. He had something up his sleeve, but she knew there would be no dragging it out of him. When he wanted to be, Mac could be the most obvious and obtuse person all at the same time. "So fill me in here, Mac. What do we got?"


	2. Chapter 2

An hour and a half later, most everything was bagged and recorded. Flack walked back in the store. "Security tape pretty much confirmed what we thought went down. And I've been asking around. Most everybody remembers hearing the shots, but the closest we have to a description is two guys in their late teens/early twenties wearing dark hoodies and baggy jeans." He rolled his eyes, "Fits nearly every guy in that age range walking around here."

Mac looked up, "Maybe we can get more off the tape."

Flack looked skeptical, "Maybe. It didn't look too promising when I just watched through it."

Mac shrugged, "We can but try." He turned as Stella spoke from behind the counter where she had lifted a print from the cash register.

"Last one! I should be all set here, Mac, if you want to get going."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah I'm sure. You get home and enjoy your day."

Mac nodded, "Ok. Call me if you need anything."

Stella walked with him out to his truck, "Thanks again, Mac."

He smiled, "No problem." He opened his door, "See you tomorrow."

"You know it!" Stella turned to go back to the convenience store.

"Hey?"

She turned, "Yeah?"

"Dinner."

Stella blinked. "What?"

"Dinner. You owe me dinner."

He had that look again. She walked back over to his truck, intrigued.

"Ok. Where?"

He shifted ever so slightly, "How about my place?"

Stella felt her mental jaw drop, "Mac Taylor, are you asking me on a date?"

He smiled, "Maybe."

She looked at him leaning easily on his truck, the only piece of formal work clothing he was wearing, his NYPD issued Crime Scene jacket, was currently undone, sleeves pushed up. He had that adorable little boy smile on his face, and suddenly the sun felt 20 degrees warmer. "You cooking?" she asked.

"Hey how is that fair?!" He grinned, "Is that a yes?"

She opened her mouth to reply, but just then, shouts and a commotion erupted from across the street. Both Mac and Stella turned to locate the cause.

"What now?" Stella queried incredulously just in time for them to see two people running in opposite directions from the small corner business, the owner right behind them, shotgun in hand, swearing a blue streak. "You're kidding me!" Stella said, shocked. Mac bolted across the street in pursuit of the fleeing criminals, yelling at them to stop, nearly getting hit by an unobservant motorist. "Mac!" Stella shouted after him.

Flack came running out, "What the hell's going on?"

"I think it's them," Stella called back to him as she raced after Mac. "We've got the one headed north, other one's headed east!"  
Flack nodded, jumping into his car and shouting in turn into his radio for backup pursuit on the other suspect.

Stella sprinted after Mac. He and his quarry were several yards ahead, and she saw them turn and head down an alley. Making the turn behind them, Stella saw them racing towards a tall chain-link fence that separated the end of the alley from the back lot of a large body shop. Suddenly the suspect stopped and turned, drawing a gun all in the same motion, and a single, awful shot echoed through the close alley. Stella saw Mac's body shudder as he jerked to a stop. Time seemed to grind to a halt. She saw him look down and raise his hand to his abdomen. It came away covered in blood as he dropped to his knees. Then he was thrown backwards as two more shots rang out.

"NO!!" Stella screamed, her insides twisting indescribably. She yelled desperately into her radio, "Officer down! I repeat, officer down at Seely and 147th! I need medics here immediately!" Startled at the appearance of an additional pursuer, the gunman squeezed off three more shots wildly in her direction before clambering nimbly over the fence and disappearing into a maze of wrecked cars.  
Stella rushed over to Mac who was lying in a rapidly growing pool of blood. He was ashen grey and his face was contorted in pain as he took rapid, gasping breaths. The shot to his belly was pouring blood and the final two had landed below his right collarbone and right-center chest.

Stella tore off her jacket and desperately tried to staunch the bleeding from his abdomen. He was awake, but seemingly incapable of anything except struggling to breath.

"Mac?! Mac?! Can you hear me?" Stella felt panic rise in her chest which threatened to overwhelm her, and hot tears formed in her eyes. "Dammit Mac, stay with me! Stay with me! Mac?!" She could hear sirens approaching.

He slid his hand over and grasped her knee. It was like ice. She gently took her right hand off her blood-soaked jacket and took his. He gripped it tightly and desperately, and Stella could feel his struggle to live. Tires screeched to halt and Flack appeared, face stricken and horror-stamped at the sight before him.

"Mac!! Oh god, Mac! Stella, what happened?! Here," he placed his hands on the now almost drenched jacket and applied pressure. Mac groaned.

"He just shot him, Don. The bastard just turned and shot him!" Absolute, white-hot rage rendered further speech impossible. But Mac's eyes started to droop as complete exhaustion began to set in, and Stella could hear blood gurgling in his airway as his grip on her hand weakened. The world started collapsing around her.


	3. Chapter 3

He was happy, instantaneously and truly happy for the first time in long time. Despite himself, he grinned. He couldn't help it. "So, is that a yes?" he asked.  
Then he began to think there was some giant conspiracy in place to destroy any and all of his plans as he realized that another attempted robbery was taking place just down and across the street from their crime scene! For a split second, he watched incredulously as a plucky store owner chased two men from his store, gun in hand and swearing in what sounded like at least three different languages.

"You've got to be kidding me!" he heard Stella say. As the two criminals instantly split ways and started fleeing, incredulism turned to a seething frustration that had been accumulating over the past several weeks. He hadn't really realized the extent of it until now. Frustration turned to anger and boiled over. He picked one of the two thugs and tore after him without a second thought.

"NYPD! Stop!"

He could hear Stella behind him yelling to Flack about what was happening. Dodging a car that decided to try to turn in front of him, he felt the familiar rush of anger pouring adrenaline into his system, replacing that anger and any conscious emotion and thought with pure instinct and reaction. A small part of his brain told him he knew far better than to give in so completely, but it was too late. Embracing the exhilarating effect of his own body's chemicals coursing through him, he sped after the fugitive.

They rounded a corner down an alley and hurtled towards a tall, chain-link fence that appeared to be an exit/entrance for the back lot of a good-sized body shop. This chase could end right here, he thought. But suddenly his quarry stopped and turned, pulling a gun from the front waistline of his pants. Mac had just enough time to register the gun and try to skid to a halt before a piercing, white-hot sledgehammer hit him the gut.

The only benefit of such intense pain was that it so overloaded his brain, that it was almost not pain, just an all-encompassing sheet of existence. The echo of the shot and all other sound seemed to fade into the distance. He looked down and brought his right hand to his stomach where his white t-shirt was already soaked in blood. He felt his legs give out, and he dropped to his knees unable to hold himself up any longer. Then there was a second explosion of pain by his shoulder, his chest felt like it was hit by a burning semi and he couldn't breathe. Nothing existed but a crushing wave of agony. He realized vaguely he was looking up at the sky. The sun was no longer warm.

He heard Stella scream. Her voice broke through his haze, and he wanted to cry out as his brain finally registered exactly what it was feeling. But he couldn't. It was as much as he could do to take a breath. There was blood in the back of his throat. He reflexively tried to cough, but all he managed to do was choke on it.

Then Stella was there beside him trying to stop the bleeding from his belly. He could hear her begging him to stay with her. But it was getting harder to breathe, if that were possible. He could feel his lungs filling with blood, and panic started to set in. He reached out and found her knee. Gripping it like a lifeline, he tried to focus on just surviving. Then he felt her hand slip into his, and she was his whole world. Without room for conscious thought of any kind, he knew that regardless of what happened, he was never going to let her go. Ever.

Black spots danced in front of his eyes and he was dimly aware that Flack had shown up. He could feel as Don took over from Stella in their effort to staunch a seemingly endless flow of blood. Fresh spears of pain lanced his body as Don applied more pressure.

He felt as though he was trying to breathe underwater. The black spots grew bigger, and he felt his eyes droop, as exhaustion beyond anything he had thought possible threatened to take over and engulf him in a bliss of blackness and unconsciousness.

Then more people arrived and he could hear another woman's voice tersely asking questions, and giving orders. He could hear her ask him his name as she knelt beside him, oddly aware that she looked a lot younger than her presence dictated. He tried to answer, but couldn't. Stella was answering for him as the medic deftly cut his shirt off.

"I'm going to have to decompress," he heard her say.  
There was a sharp pain on the side of his rib cage, and ever so minutely his breathing came easier. But it was enough. He turned his head and focused his eyes.

"Stella?" he managed.

She took his hand in both of hers.

"Stay with me," he pleaded.

She nodded, "I'm not going anywhere, Mac. You've got me. Come on, hang in there. You're going to be ok."  
Her voice was firm and reassuring and chased away his fear. He relaxed, and incapable of resisting any longer, finally gave in to his body's screaming demands.

Reality slipped in and out. More lancing pain as they rolled him onto a hard board and strapped him down.

Sirens sounded distant in the background and every bump in the road jarred him painfully as he realized they were driving. The young medic was in the back of the truck with him, talking to him, hooking him up to various things, and somehow miraculously keeping him just this side of oblivion. Then they were at the hospital and a thousand faces and voices surrounded him. There was a final, horribly indescribable pain on the side of his chest. He let out a cry of agony, and he could actually breathe at last.

And finally, mercifully, there was nothing.


	4. Chapter 4

The ER room was as quiet and deserted as it had been hectic and chaotic. Discarded equipment wrappers lay everywhere, monitor cables hung haphazardly from their screens, and blood was smeared on the floor. Stella stood alone, watching, as they wheeled Mac down the hall to surgery, his last cry echoing in her ears. His dark hair was matted, and he looked almost peaceful as unconsciousness finally erased the lines of pain from his face. Then he and the trauma team disappeared as the elevator doors closed. Stella turned and closed her eyes, leaning on the wall, images from the last half hour relentlessly replaying themselves in her head…

There were more sirens, and the paramedics were there. A young woman, medical bag slung over her shoulder, all but ran up. Her eyes flashed, jaw was set in a hard, angry line at the sight before her. Stella didn't budge from Mac's side as the medic threw herself down beside them and went to work with professional efficiency.

"What happened?" she asked.

"He was shot three times, close-range handgun, unknown caliber." The medic nodded as she cleared Mac's airway, put an oxygen mask on him and quickly cut off his jacket and t-shirt. "Sir! What's your name? Hey! Stay awake for me! What's your name?"

Stella watched helplessly as Mac tried to answer but couldn't.

"What's his name?" the medic asked her as she pulled out a stethoscope and listened to his lung sounds.

"Mac. Mac Taylor." She closed her eyes briefly and squeezed his hand. She could see the life slowly escaping his body as he became less responsive.

The medic turned to her partner taking the stethoscope from her ears, "I'm going to have to decompress. He's not moving any air."

Stella watched as the medic cleaned the blood off the side of his right chest and inserted a needle between his ribs, placing a catheter which instantly started trickling a steady stream of blood. Mac winced, and his hand tightened on hers reflexively, but it must have helped because he turned his head and found her eyes, "Stella?"

She looked into his slate green ones.

"Stay with me."

The pleading look in his eyes and tone of voice scared her to the depths of her soul. She read his fear and felt it in every fiber of his being. She had never known him to be afraid, not in all the situations they had found themselves in and gone through together. And that fear terrified her more than anything else could have. It was all Stella could do choke back her tears. He had always been there when she needed his solidarity and strength more than anything else, and now he needed her more than she had ever needed him. She enclosed his hand in both of hers, holding him tight. "I'm not going anywhere, Mac. You've got me. Come on, hang in there. You're going to be ok." Her reassurance seemed to calm him, and she could feel him relax as he closed his eyes.

"Alright, we gotta go," the medic said. She had replaced Stella's blood-soaked jacket with trauma dressings, and Stella noted with some relief that the bleeding from his abdomen seemed to have slowed.  
The medics quickly rolled him onto a backboard. Stella noted that the belly shot had been a through-and-through, but there were no exit wounds from his chest or shoulder. God knows what damage those bullets had done bouncing around inside him. It was miracle he was still alive.

"You coming?" the young woman asked.

Stella nodded and turned to Flack as she followed the medics to the truck, "I'll call you."

He nodded wordlessly and stared after the receding ambulance. He looked at his hands now covered in Mac's blood. His mind flashed back to that morning four years ago when he had been caught in the explosion that had nearly killed him, and it had been Mac that had saved his life. Never in a million years had he thought their positions would reversed, with him desperately trying to save his friend who lay dying in front of him. Not ever. Not Mac. Allowing himself a few seconds to let his emotions pour through him, Flack stood, burning anger etched on his face. There was no room for anything else. He had murderous son-of-a-bitch to catch and beat to a bloody pulp. And he was going to start by tearing every last shred of information from the smirking teen sitting handcuffed in the back seat of his car.

Stella jumped in the front seat of the ambulance and immediately got to business. Pulling out her phone, she dialed a number.

"Danny?...

".......Yeah, it's true. I need you and Sheldon to head over there and process the scene. I don't want anybody else right now…

"………he doesn't look good Danny." Her voice cracked. Clearing her throat she continued, "You might be able to get a print from the top bar of the chainlink fence. The shooter climbed over it to get away...

"……yeah, Flack's on scene. Look, I'll call you as soon I know anything."

She looked back through the compartment divider and saw the young woman starting IVs, hanging fluid and hooking Mac up to various monitors, all the while talking to him to keep him awake. Stella could see that even though his eyes only occasionally drifted open now, his pain hadn't lessened. Every jar in the road, every jostle of the truck brought a heart-wrenching expression of pain to his face.

As the medic was radioing her report to the receiving hospital, Stella could catch parts of it.

"46 year old male police officer, GSW times 3…

…BP 71/38, heart rate 122…

…needle decompression on scene…

…ETA 5 min."

Stella turned back to the front and stared out the windshield as they sped through traffic. It was like a bad dream that right about now she should wake up from. But it wasn't a dream, and they were pulling up at the ER entrance.

The medics unloaded the stretcher, and Stella could see Mac was pale as death and barely responsive. Hurrying beside them, Stella followed as they whisked him into one of the ER rooms and a waiting trauma team immediately took over care.

It was controlled chaos as the head trauma surgeon ordered immediate blood gases, portable X-rays were taken and more IV lines and monitors were hooked up. Someone handed her his gun and badge from his belt. Stella took them silently and gently wiped some of the blood off his badge with her thumb, reality settling in harder, if that were possible.

"His sats are still dropping," she heard someone say. The trauma surgeon looked up at the monitors.  
"We're going to have to place that chest tube now," he said.

More scurrying as the staff rapidly set up the procedure.

"Are the drugs in?" the surgeon asked.

"Yes."

"Alright. Mac?! Mac?!"

Mac's eyes drifted open ever so slightly.

"Mac, we're going place a tube in your chest to drain that blood out of your lung. It's going to hurt, but you'll be able to breathe a lot better afterwards."

Mac's eyes closed again.

"Alright, let's do it," the surgeon said.

Someone touched her elbow and Stella turned. A lady was there identifying herself as one the hospital social workers and asking about Mac's information and if there was any family that needed to be notified and who his emergency contact was. Stella paused, she hadn't really thought about it before, and she realized with a shock that she didn't know of any of his family. She knew both his parents had died and he had never mentioned any siblings or any extended family either.

"No," she said quietly. "There's no one."

She looked at him lying on the hospital bed, eyes closed, face still etched with pain as medical staff buzzed all around him, and her heart ached for him. Her eyes filled with tears again. Nobody should be that alone.

Then she felt as if her heart had been ripped out as Mac let out a cry of pure anguish. The tears finally spilled over. Up until now he had barely uttered a sound. Collecting herself, she cuffed the tears away.  
"Got it!" she heard the surgeon say. Stella could see a tube coming from his right side. It was hooked up to a drainage bag that was already half full with blood. She saw Mac take a deep, shuddering breath and finally completely pass out.

"Sats?" the surgeon asked.

"Better, not great."

"Ok, let's get him upstairs to surgery. We'll intubate him then."

Stella caught the elbow of the trauma surgeon as he followed the team out of the room. "How is he?" she asked.  
The surgeon looked straight into her eyes and read only the strongest determination and resolve. Normally he would smooth over specifics and use certain lines such as "We're doing all we can", but he knew she would have none of that.

"He's not looking good. His BP is still dropping, his right lung is completely collapsed, he's lost a massive amount of blood, and one of the bullets is dangerously close to his heart."

Stella nodded, lips pressed tight together. "I'll be waiting. Thank you. Send the bullets out as soon as you've been able to remove them."

The surgeon gave her a small smile and hurried after the rest of the team.

And with that, they were gone, leaving a whirlwind behind them.

The ER room was as quiet and deserted as it had been hectic and chaotic.


	5. Chapter 5

Sorry this took a while to post. For some reason, final exams magically appeared...........hmmm!!! :) But they're done and I should be able to update every couple days until it's finished!! Enjoy! :)

* * *

"Come on, come on!" Danny hit the steering wheel in frustration as he tried to worm his vehicle through the mass of squad cars and other official vehicles that had all but blocked off the road leading to the alley. But it was pointless. Swearing to himself, Danny gave up. Throwing his car in park and grabbing his case off the seat next to him, he jumped out.

His heart was trying to pound its way out of his chest as he ducked under the police tape cordoning off the end of the alley. His eye caught the blood covered asphalt where Mac had been shot, and his heart which had been racing a mile a minute thudded to a painful halt. He felt as if he'd been hit with a ton of bricks.

-----------

He had been processing a scene only a couple miles from the convenience store when Flack had called him asking if he would be able to clear.  
"Sorry man. This is a weird one. I'm going to be here a while." He looked at his victim, a young woman sitting cross-legged and naked in the middle of a chalk design that had been drawn on the floor of the otherwise empty room. "Have you tried Sheldon or Stella?"

"Yeah, they can't clear either." Flack paused and Danny could hear him grimace on the other end of the phone. "He's gonna kill me Danny."

Danny grinned, "Nah, seriously injure you maybe, send you to the hospital for a few days, make you wish he had, but not actually kill you. Don't worry, I'll send you flowers!"

"Shut up Danny!"

Danny laughed, "See ya Don!"

"Yeah, yeah, see ya."

Danny chuckled, "Bye!"

Laughing to himself, he turned his attention back to his crime scene and sighed. Yeah, he was going to be here a while.

A couple hours later he was finally wrapping things up when he heard Flack radio in pursuit of a suspect, requesting backup for himself and for a second pursuit with Detectives Taylor and Bonasera. Stella must have been able to make it over there at some point to help Mac.

Danny shook his head in disbelief, "What, is it a full moon too?!"

The uniformed cop helping him chuckled, "Tell me about it!"

Then Stella called "Officer down!" and Danny froze, staring at the radio. His heart stood still in his chest. It couldn't be, he told himself, trying to rationalize that the officer hit could have been anybody. But he knew it wasn't.

Stella's phone call to him had confirmed his worst fears.

----------

Danny looked up as Flack's angry voice cut through his momentary daze. Don was being pulled off a handcuffed youth by a fellow detective and a uniformed cop. A sergeant hauled the young man to his feet unceremoniously and all but threw him in the back of his squad car. Danny hurried over. Flack was pacing back and forth, face livid, and Danny noticed sickeningly that his shirt was covered in blood.

"Don! Don, you ok?!"

Flack nodded wordlessly, still too furious to speak. He noticed Danny looking with concern at his shirt. He shook his head, "It's not mine."

Danny swallowed hard, "Mac?"

"Yeah," Flack said shortly, still glaring murderously at the young man he had had to be physically dragged off. Danny followed his eyes, and the teen smirked at both of them through the window of the squad car he was sitting in. Danny felt his blood start to boil.

"That him? He the one who shot Mac?"

Flack shook his head and sighed wearily, "No. He was his accomplice in the robbery. I caught up to him just as Stella called on the radio. He's not saying anything." He glowered darkly, "Yet." Danny could barely keep a lid on the rising tide of anger growing in his chest as the youngster smiled cockily at them. His voice shook as he spoke, "What the fuck is he laughing about?!"

"At this point, I don't even wanna know," Flack said.

Danny nodded mutely, seething. He took a few seconds to indulge in his fury and then slowly squelched the flood of adrenaline that was racing through his brain. It exited his system as he took a longer more detailed survey of the scene. He was left feeling sick to his stomach. Readying his camera, he turned to Flack, "So what went down here, Don?"

Sheldon showed up about 10 min later, and together they meticulously processed every detail of the scene. Danny could see him slightly shake his head, and his lips pressed tight together as he photographed the spot where Mac had lain. Danny felt his stomach plummet again. Of anybody there, Sheldon was the only one who could piece together exactly how badly Mac might be injured.

"Come on Sheldon," Danny said quietly, "How bad is it?"

Sheldon met his eyes, and Danny did not like the look in them.

"My best estimate based on the amount of blood on the ground and Stella's jacket, is that he lost close to a liter here on scene, let alone internal and before he gets to surgery." His voice trailed off.

Danny nodded, "Well, if anybody'd make it, it'd be Mac. Come on, let's finish up."

All six shell casings were near the fence, and the bullet that had gone through Mac was embedded in a dumpster at the entrance to the alley. Danny held it up triumphantly; it had been a bitch to find. "9 mil standard round." He turned to Sheldon, "Get anything off the fence?"

Hawkes waved three print stickers, "Right here. Got two actual fingerprints and a palm print."

"Great! Let's get all this back to the lab, and track this bastard down!"


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Stella walked numbly though the hallways toward the surgery waiting lounge. It sounded so nice: a waiting lounge. Nice way to try to sugar coat what it really was: a space meant to try to contain relief, despair, grief and hope. Nobody there really cared about the new waterfall wall, the large salt water fish tank or the soft repetitive music that was supposed to be relaxing. Stella sank wearily into one of the chairs, the trauma surgeon's words echoing in her head…

"…_dangerously close to his heart…lost massive amount of blood…lung collapsed…"_

She closed her eyes. It seemed a lifetime ago that they had been standing in sun by his truck, Mac smiling warmly at her and somewhat embarrassed. He had actually asked her out. After all this time. She had been so happy, she could hardly think straight. She looked down at his badge that she cradled protectively, and ran her thumb over the numbers: 8433. She knew them as well she did her own badge number. They had been friends and cared for each other as only true partners could. When they had first started working together, Stella had wondered if her new partner could actually speak at length about anything outside of work. But he had a quick and ready smile, and they had become fast friends, trusting each other implicitly.

Stella smiled remembering how happy Mac had been back then. There had been a standing invitation for dinner after their shift at his Claire's apartment. She had become quite good friends with Claire as well. She had laughed easily, and was as outgoing as Mac was reserved. Stella had never seen a happier couple.

Then the light had been extinguished from his soul, and Stella had feared it might never be relit. He had closed himself off from everybody, constantly working himself to the point of breaking. But he had never shut her out. Despite all the walls he built around himself, she had always managed to break through when necessary. He had only ever allowed himself to show his exhaustion to her eyes only, however brief the moment was.

Despite the different people and experiences that had passed through both their lives since then, their friendship had only deepened, Mac still only letting his guard down with her, and she only really completely trusting him. But the stars had never really aligned she thought bitterly, until now. Now, when he lay possibly dying in surgery. She hadn't even actually told him 'yes', tears filling her eyes again, and now she might not get to. Angrily, she shoved the thought aside. He'd been through countless engagements as a Marine; and as part of the NYPD he'd been in two explosions, taken hostage twice and left for dead in a sinking car. Now was _not_ going to be the time his luck ran out. "Come on Mac," she whispered, "You can make it."

----------------

"_He's intubated and ready," the anesthesiologist said. "But his pressure's barely holding."_

"_All right, let's get that bleeding stopped first before even thinking about removing the other two bullets."…_

…"_Hang another two units!"…_

…"_Pressure's still dropping: 49/20!"…_

…"_I've lost pulses!"…_

…"_Dammit!! CPR, Epi, now! Let's open his chest and get an internal pacer on!"…_

-----------------

Stella looked up at the clock. Four hours twelve minutes, and still no word.

-----------------

…"_Still no pulse…"_

…"_Increasing joules…"_

…"_Still nothing…"_

----------------

"Detective Bonasera?"

Stella looked up, heart thudding painfully. The trauma surgeon from the ER was standing in front of her, face somber and drawn.

"How is he?" she managed to ask, fear of the worst nipping at the edges of her sanity.

The surgeon sat down next to her. "Not good," he said softly. "He made it through surgery, but…"

Stella felt the color drain from her face, "But what?"

"We had to restart his heart twice, and he lost nearly a third of his blood volume, not counting what we were able to replace. The next 24-48 hr will be the most critical. With that kind of blood loss, he'll most likely decompensate further in that time frame." He paused, "I'm sorry, we've done what we can, but I'd be surprised if he makes it."

Stella couldn't speak. There was thunderous roar in her ears as she tried to process his last statement, _"…surprised if he makes it…surprised if he makes it…"_

"Here," the surgeon said quietly, handing her a small bag. "We did manage to get both."

Stella nodded mutely, taking it mechanically. "Where is he?" she managed to ask.

"He's in the surgical ICU. I'll take you up there."

-----------------

Any last shreds of the non-realism of what had happened were disintegrated as Stella stood in the doorway to Mac's room. He lay, eyes closed, his chest rising slowly and evenly with every quiet _whoosh_ of the vent. She walked slowly over to him, taking in the myriad of monitors, IV bags, and lines that surrounded him. She sat down next to him, taking his normally strong hand in hers. His face was peaceful and belied the seriousness of his condition. She smiled at him through her tears and gently ran her fingers through his hair.

"I'm here, Mac," she said. "Told you I wasn't going anywhere." She put her forehead down on the pillow next to his, and the tears finally spilled over, uncontrolled. "I love you Mac. I always have."

* * *

_Images and scenes zoomed past him at frightening speed. He was standing alone in a barren landscape, a huge chasm in front of him, separating him from the events on the other side. He watched helplessly as he saw the towers fall again...his fellow Marines dying next to him more times than he ever wanted to remember...Don being caught in that explosion except this time he couldn't save him…_

_He felt the pain of each event slicing through him like barbed knives, tearing him to pieces. It continued on relentlessly. The pain was unbearable. He fell to his knees begging it to stop…but it didn't._

_Then a woman's voice cut through the maelstrom, calming his racing heart and cooling his tortured, helpless body. It stilled his mind, and the images faded into the distance. He felt a complete sense of peace come over him. It wrapped him protectively, and he fell, exhausted, in its embrace._


	7. Chapter 7

Just a heads up: I did include some language on this one. Not a lot, but just so no one's taken too much by surprise I'm telling you all now. Besdes, I didn't rate this T for absolutely nothing! ;P

* * *

**Chapter 7**

"I'm going to ask you again: what's the name of your partner?" Flack asked, leaning across the table towards the 18 year-old sitting across from him.

The youth leaned right back towards him, looking him in the eye and daring him to retaliate, "And I told you, I ain't saying." He leaned back cockily, "You think I was born yesterday? You think I'm going to buy that bull-crap about getting a better deal if I cooperate? I ain't sayin' a word!"

Flack could feel his temper rising. "A cop was shot," he spat out.

The teen leaned back across the table, "Yeah? I'm guessing it wasn't just any cop either was it? Had to be someone pretty special to get you this worked up." He smirked, "Your boyfriend maybe?"

Flack stood, shaking with anger, "get. him. out. of. here." he managed, addressing the uniformed officer who was with him. Flack turned away, unable to look at the teen without being afraid of seriously injuring him.

"Fucking cop got what he fucking deserved."

Flack snapped. He launched himself across the room, grabbed the young man by the front of his shirt, turned and slammed him face first into the wall.

"Listen to me, you little piece of shit, I would like nothing more than to take off this badge and beat you to an inch of your life." For the first time, a dawning look of fear and realization of the true seriousness of his situation came across the face of the teen as Flack spoke deadly quiet in his ear, "And you better get down on your knees and pray that Mac Taylor does what he does and lives, because if not, badge or no badge, I will see that neither you or your partner ever see the light of day again. But right now, your worthless ass just isn't worth my time." Flack let him go with utter disdain. "We're done," he said, walking out of the room.

------------

Danny took off his glasses and rubbed his face in frustration and impatience and he watched AFIS scan through the thousands upon thousands of prints it had in its system. It wasn't taking any longer than usual, he knew, but that knowledge didn't prevent him from being seriously tempted to hit the computer in an attempt to make it work faster. Matters were only compounded by the fact that he still had his original crime scene to analyze.

'_No Match'_

'_No Match'_

Did it always take this long? He sighed. The most surreal part of the familiar process had been collecting the blood sample from the bullet he had recovered from the dumpster and sending it off to DNA for identity confirmation. Confirmation that it was Mac Taylor's. He shook his head as he put his glasses back on. None of them had heard from Stella either. At this point, Danny prayed that no news was good news.

'_No Match'_

'_No Match'_

'_No Match'_

'_No Match'_

Just as he really was about to hit the computer, those two glorious words popped up: _'Match Confirmed_' and he had a name: _Linus Lorenzo_. "Boom!"

Danny printed the sheet triumphantly, dialing Flack's number to let him know they got a hit. Miss Naked would have to wait.

------------

With a promise to be back as soon as she could, Stella had left Mac's room and walked out to the family waiting room to call Don. She supposed she should have called earlier, but even now she had very little definitive information to give anyone.

"_We really won't know for the next 24-48 hr,"_ was all anyone could, or would, tell her.

"Don?..."

It's funny how one's emotions can change in a split second. Literally. And by the smallest of things. In this case it was the name on his caller ID: _Stella Bonasera_. His vindictive sense of triumph and hope that Danny's call precipitated, evaporated in an instant. His phone buzzed in his hand as bottom dropped out of his stomach. Much as Flack tried to tell himself otherwise, he knew just how badly Mac was injured; and as superhuman as the man seemed at times, there was a very real possibility………he shoved that thought aside as he took a deep breath and answered his phone.

"Hi Stella. How is he?"

"He made it through surgery, but……." her voice caught. Clearing her throat she continued, "it was close, and they're not even sure if…" She was unable to say it.

On the other end of the phone, Flack felt a rock settle into the pit of his stomach. Although, if he was perfectly honest with himself, he had been expecting to be going after Mac's murderer, not attempted murderer.

"Stell, he's in the best hands possible, and…"

"I know, I know. If anyone can beat this, he can. Look, I'm going to head back to the lab, drop off the bullets they got out of him. You guys all set?"

"Yeah, Danny got a hit off the fingerprints they got on scene. We're headed over to this guy's address now."

Stella nodded, eyes flashing, "Do me a favor Flack, save a piece of him for me."

Flack smiled tightly as he met Danny at the door and they jumped into his car, "Wouldn't dream of doing anything else."

-------------

_She was gone, and he was alone. Alone in that barren landscape of pain and tortured memories. He shrunk inside, terrified of their return. His body hurt enough as it was. It was pointless to fight it, but he did, clinging onto the faint whisper of her voice that was left floating almost beyond his grasp._

_Slowly, inexorably, they closed in around him._

_He shook. This time there was no chasm separating him from them. The images and pain cut straight through his already raw and injured body, slicing him to ribbons as they swirled ceaselessly and viciously around him. He tried to hold on to the faint thread of her voice, but it was gone. He begged for oblivion, for even a modicum of relief to no avail. _

_Horrible alternate realities merged with the real ones until he could no longer distinguish between the two. It was too much. He fell, unable to take any more. 'Please', he whispered, 'let me go.' He was stripped, finished. He had nothing left. As blessed darkness started to close in on the edge of his vision, he felt no fear, just the profoundest relief._

_It would finally be over._

--------------

Stella walked slowly into Mac's empty office. She had dropped the bullets off with Sheldon, and had headed up here to leave Mac's gun in its usual resting spot. She laid it gently in the top right-hand drawer of his desk, and looked around at the familiar space. His quiet yet powerful presence hung on the air, and Stella half expected him to walk through the door at any second, hanging up his jacket and asking for updates on the convenience store shooting.

She sank wearily on the small couch against the wall, leaning her head on her hands. The sun had disappeared behind the skyscrapers outside his office windows stealing with it any last shred of warmth that might have remained. Stella sat there, too mentally drained and emotionally exhausted to do anything else.

Her phone ringing snapped her out of her reverie, and she looked at it hurriedly hoping it was Flack with the news they had caught up with Lorenzo. But it was an unknown number. Stella sighed and answered it, "Detective Bonasera."

"_Dectective? This is Marcia from Trinity hospital. You left your number as contact information for Mac Taylor?"_

Stella felt her heart skip several beats, "Yes."

"_I'm afraid he's not getting better. You might want to come over."_

There was a horrible ringing in her ears. "What, what do you mean '_he's not getting better'_?" she managed.

"_His oxygen levels dropped again and we had to place a second chest tube. Also, we can't keep his blood pressure up and his kidneys are starting to fail. If their function doesn't improve soon, he'll have to go on dialysis and even then……...he's not looking good. I'm sorry."_ The lady called Marcia spoke softly and apologetically.

Stella nodded, too numb for several seconds to speak. "I'll be right there," she finally managed.

* * *

Enjoy and review! Sorry for another cliffhanger, but chap 8 is in the works and I promise some resolution!!


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Flack pounded on the 3rd story apartment door. It was the last one on the left. Why was always the last one on the left……on the 3rd floor?

"NYPD, open up!"

There was no answer.

Flack looked at Danny who nodded as he drew his gun. A well placed kick broke in the flimsy door and Danny rounded the corner into Lorenzo's apartment. He was met by the butt-end of a fire extinguisher that crashed into the side of his head. Dazed and knocked to the ground, Danny tried to shake the ringing from his head as Lorenzo dashed for an open window and the fire escape. Swearing, Flack dodged a chair the suspect threw behind him as they crossed the apartment. Danny ducked as it skittered towards him. Blinking blood out of his eye, he looked back up in time to see Flack knock Lorenzo to the ground.

Holstering his gun, Flack dug his knee into Lorenzo's back as he wrenched the suspect's arms back towards him and fastened the cuffs, tightly.

"Linus Lorenzo, you're under arrest for the attempted murder and shooting of a New York police officer, assault of a police officer, robbery with a deadly weapon, and evading and resisting arrest." Flack bit out the words as he hauled the suspect to his feet and continued with the familiar recitation of the prisoner's rights.

Handing him off to two of the uniformed officers who were with them, Flack hurried over Danny who had gotten to his feet and was trying to stop the bleeding from a nasty cut above his eye.

"Danny, you ok?" Flack asked him, concern and worry stamped on his face.

Danny nodded, then closed his eyes as the movement caused a wave of dizziness to wash over him. "Yeah, yeah, just stunned me a bit." He took his hand away from the cut above his eye, and it started to trickle blood again. "Bastard broke my glasses." Giving a small laugh he pressed his hand back against the cut and winced, "Lindsey's been telling me I should get contacts. Says we wouldn't have to worry about them getting accidently smooshed when we……" he stopped short.

"Oh do go on Danny, please!" Flack said, his eyes dancing with amusement. "When we……?"

Danny felt his face heat. "Never mind," he said with a quick shake of his head. He swore as the sudden movement threw the room out of focus and made it spin uncontrollably. His knees buckled as he lost his balance.

Flack caught him as he fell, and lifted him back to his feet. "Whoa, easy there!" He threw Danny's arm around his shoulders and steadied him. "Come on, let's get you get to a hospital."

Danny squeezed his eyes closed in an effort to make the room stand still. He peeked them back open, but the damn room still persisted in its circular motion. "Yep, probably a good idea," he said.

Flack helped him down the stairs and out to their car, "Now, what were you saying again about Lindsey and contacts?"

Danny glared at him.

Flack grinned.

---------------

Stella felt a wave of almost paralyzing fear as the elevator doors opened onto the Surgical ICU floor. She was no medical person, but had glossed over enough lines herself to recognize when someone else was doing so. The nurse who had called her had let her know what was going on and that Mac had taken a turn for the worse; but she had stopped short of telling the whole truth. None of them expected him to live.

Stella gently lowered the side rail on his bed as she sat down next to him. There was a difference in him that she couldn't put her finger on. It was as if an invisible energy had disappeared. She picked up his hand and kissed it gently. Stroking a single damp wave of hair off his forehead, she smiled. She had good-naturedly ribbed him a few weeks ago that he wasn't in the military anymore and didn't need a haircut every other day, and that she had liked it when it was longer. He had, in typical Mac fashion, gotten all squirmy and quickly changed the subject. But apparently, her comment hadn't been lost on him. "I'm here Mac. I'm back," she told him softly.

-------------

"Are you still dizzy?" the Dr. asked him.

Danny spoke from underneath the blue, sterile cloths that covered his entire face minus his cut. Well, they had been sterile out of a package before the Dr. started stitching him up.

"A bit. Not bad." He could hear Lindsey fidget beside him. Flack had insisted on calling her.

"Well, your CAT scan came back negative, so you escaped with just a concussion. I am going to write in your discharge instructions not to go back to work for a few days though."

Danny bit his tongue. Right, like that was going to happen. Although he had a sneaky suspicion that between Flack and Lindsey he wasn't going to have much of a choice in the matter. He blinked at the sudden light as the Dr. removed the blue cloths from his face.

"Good as new. You'll want to make an appointment with your own doc to get those removed in about 10 days."

Danny slowly sat up. The dizziness was going away, but he was left with a residual sick feeling in his stomach. "So how many doc?"

"Seven. You might want to think about getting contacts for on the job."

Flack snorted, trying to hide the huge grin that had appeared on his face.

Lindsey turned, "What?"

Danny pointed at him, "Not a word Don. Not a word!"

"Sure, Danny, sure!"

"What?!" Lindsey asked, suspicion growing on her face. "_What_ is he talking about?" She looked between Danny's furious eyes and red face and Flack's barely contained amusement. Suspicion changed to horror, "Daniel Ryan Messer, just _what_ did you tell him?"

"I…"

Lindsey pointed at him, "You, are so dead!"

------------------

Stella had called Don shortly after getting to the hospital to let the team know what was going on, and at one point or another they had all come up. Flack, with a still somewhat unsteady Danny who was being assisted by Lindsey, had filled her in on the case's progress. They had finally found Lorenzo's gun, ditched three blocks from where Mac had been shot, and ballistics had confirmed a match on the bullets from the convenience store's owner with the ones which Mac had been shot. The store owner's wife and the customer had been killed with a different gun: Lorenzo's teen accomplice.

With promises all around for calls on any updates, and a further promise from Danny _not _to go into work tomorrow, Stella found herself alone with Mac again. She sat with him. Never letting go of his hand and gently running her fingers through his hair, she talked to him.

"Remember our first shift together, Mac? You said hardly anything and kept giving me these funny looks because I was all nervous and talking too much. Then we had that girl that got stuck between her couch and the wall? Someone called it in as a domestic assault and we busted in all ready for a takedown, only to find that she had tried to rearrange her furniture while drunk and half-naked and was simply pounding on the wall and shouting for help when the couch had tipped over her. I'll never forget that initial split-second look on your face when we realized what was going on. You were all highly professional, of course, and even moved the stupid thing to where she had been trying put it in the first place. Then we cleared, and you couldn't stop laughing about it the rest of the day. Well, not 'laugh out loud', but you'd randomly start grinning for no apparent reason." Stella smiled through the tears that had collected in her eyes again.

She sat and held him as she talked quietly through the hours.

-------------

Stella didn't budge from Mac's side the entire night. Every couple hours more labs were drawn, IV bags were re-hung, and med levels adjusted. There was a sense of anticipation, and not in a good way. It was as if everyone was waiting for a pending catastrophe that never seemed to come. His nurse was a quiet, attentive young man who explained that, for the moment they were being able to maintain Mac's blood pressure with 'pressors'. While not great, his kidney function had stabilized, but his left lung had partially collapsed, necessitating the placement of the second chest tube.

"_He's actually stabilized quite a bit since you've been here,"_ he told her as the wee hours of the morning wore on. And Stella dared to hope.


	9. Chapter 9

HUGE thanks to everyone for your reviews!! I really appreciate them!! :) Apologies for taking a little while with this one. It turned out to be trickier than I anticipated.....anyway, hope you guys like it! Enjoy!!

* * *

**Chapter 9**

_The darkness inched in. He lay on the ground gazing at the swirling sky. It took all his effort to take a single breath, fire and pain coursing relentlessly through him. But it would soon be over. All the physical pain, along with the tortured memories, the interminable sense of responsibility, the crushing weight and guilt of lives lost that he couldn't save, the sleepless nights when their faces returned to haunt him refusing him rest… He closed his eyes. There was only a distant hole of light left. His body shivered uncontrollably sending fresh waves of agonizing pain through him. He felt as if his very soul was on fire as a perverse part of him refused to give in entirely, denying him the relief that he so desperately craved. His back arched and he begged the darkness to take him._

_As he sensed his life slipping away with each exhale and the distant light shrunk to a mere pinprick, he felt a cool touch on his burning forehead. A faint sliver of the woman's voice that had left him, floated down through the near blackness. It flowed over him like the gentlest ocean wave, cooling and calming his tortured mind and battered body. He lay still, eyes closed, letting it wash over him. It breathed life back into him, and he felt the despair that had engulfed him recede, replaced by a complete sense of peace. The relief was so incredibly profound, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that should he be left alone again, he couldn't survive. There was simply no way he could endure a return of the onslaught. Not that he wasn't still in physical pain. He was. Every inch of him hurt beyond anything he had ever known. But he could deal with it now. The biting edge was gone. He lay, beyond exhausted, beyond anything his conscious mind knew was possible. The voice and gentle touch stayed, wrapping him protectively, and he lay limply in their embrace. _She_ stayed._

_When he didn't pass into oblivion and her voice that enveloped him never left, he slowly opened his eyes. He was still wrapped in comfort in a sort of darkness, but it was more like being outside at night instead of a barren, dark eternity. At least it didn't hurt to breathe, not near as much anyway. As his eyes slowly focused, he realized the faint specks above him were stars. He __**was**__ outside. He heard a familiar sound, one he hadn't heard in long time: the gentle lapping of small waves on a shoreline. The voice that was with him, insisted he get up. He tried to protest, but gave up the argument, succumbing to its familiar persistence. Pushing himself painfully to his feet, he looked around. His breath caught in his throat when he realized where he was. He was back on the beach at Lake Michigan, and not just any beach. 'Our secret beach' his father had called it. _

_They had gone for a hike one day when he was about seven along a park trail. With a wink, his father had led them off the official path they were supposed to stay on and past the 'No Public Access' sign. About five miles through the woods, they had emerged through the tree line onto Lake Michigan and a small cove of sorts, its horseshoe beach carved out of the forest's edge. Any further hiking had been promptly abandoned to the glories of sun, water and sand. After that, with a secret message slipped to him over breakfast and a knowing look, his father would initiate the commencement of a top secret special reconnaissance mission to 'ensure and maintain the security of a certain classified beachhead.' _

_'Where are my boys off to today?" his mother would ask with a smile. His father would look conspiratorially at him and tell her with a solemn shake of his head, 'Sorry, we're not allowed to say. Top secret mission of the highest national importance.' _

_Donning camo and packing more food than the two of them could possibly eat, they would head out. After a careful 'perimeter sweep', shirts and cargo pants would be exchanged for swim trunks, sand castles and races up and down the dunes. He remembered several occasions falling asleep on his father's back the last couple miles through the woods back to the car, blissfully exhausted and sunburned. Those were the best days of any summer._

_Slowly, gingerly he made his way up the sloping sand to the tree line. He turned and carefully lowered himself down. Leaning his back and head against a small tree, he took a deep breath, wincing at the pain, and gazed out over the lake. Her gentle presence remained beside him, holding him protectively, and continuing to talk to him. He sat, mesmerized by her voice, his breathing synchronized with the rhythm of the waves, completely relaxed._

Stella hadn't realized how timelessly time ticked on within the confines of a hospital. The night had passed inexorably slowly, the hands of the clock making their way around the face, but before she knew it, there was a new nurse, new techs and other staff making their way in and out of Mac's room. A new shift. A new day. Had it really been less than 24 hr since he had smiled up at her, calling her out on her blanket offer to make it up to him for working her shifts? She gave a little laugh, remembering. She gazed down at Mac's peaceful face as the first hints of light crept through the window. She would have told him 'yes' in a heartbeat, regardless. She smiled, kissing him on his forehead. "Come on Mac." she whispered.

_As the night wore on and faint tinges of light streaked the sky, he could feel a certain modicum of strength eek back into him. Perversely, along with it, his pain only became more defined. His belly was on fire and stabs of throbbing pain doubled him over taking his breath away. It felt as if a tight band snaked had around his chest and he struggled to take a breath, the crashing waves pushing against his lungs. The sun grew painfully bright. He tried to cry out and he could feel her arm around his shoulders steadying his shaking body, her voice in his ear urging him to fight through it. He drew from her presence, anger and frustration coursing through him, feeding his returning strength. He'd had enough. Forcing himself upright, hands clenched in fists at his side and beads of sweat rolling down his body, he took a deep breath, ignoring the white-hot pain that shot like knives through his chest. With a yell, he felt the band that had encircled his chest shatter and he fell forward onto his hands and knees, triumph and pain competing for the upper slot in his brain.  
_

Stella looked up and frowned as an alarm went off again. She knew by this time that it was the alarm on his vent, and it had been going off with alarming frequency. Each time, his nurse and sometimes a respiratory person would come in, make some adjustments, reassess his lung sounds, nod and leave. In way of explanation, all she had gotten from them was that the 'demand' settings were being changed. Whatever that meant. She squeezed his hand. His face seemed troubled, and although he was still unresponsive, there was a tenseness emanating from him.

This time, a doctor entered his room, and Stella determined to get an answer and full explanation. She waited as he told the nurse to change it to 'support only'. Stella sensed some of the tension bleed out of Mac as the settings were changed. The doctor listened to his lungs, ordered a portable chest x-ray and smiled at her. Stella blinked. It was the first smile she had seen from any staff member since Mac had arrived at the hospital. The flutter of hope that had started when he had made it through the night grew stronger.

"Well?" she asked.

"He's breathing completely on his own now," the doctor told her. "We've been slowly adjusting down the vent parameters to see how he'd do, and basically it's not doing any of the work for him at this point. It'll only kick in if he doesn't take a deep enough breath or if he doesn't take one in a certain period of time. But otherwise…" he smiled.

Stella felt a relief so incredible she didn't know what to say.

"He's certainly not out of the woods yet," the doctor cautioned. "His kidney function is still hovering just above insufficient and he's still got fluid building up on his lungs we're having to drain off," he indicated the chest tubes they had placed. "But we're definitely hopefully optimistic, particularly given his improvement at this point."

Stella nodded, "If he's breathing on his own then why…"

"Why the breathing tube still?" the doctor finished.

"Yes."

"We want to wait until he's at least a bit more responsive and more stable just in case something were to happen and to make sure we maintain his airway." He smiled, "I have a feeling though, if he progresses like he has, it won't be too much longer."

Stella felt tears in her eyes. "Thank you," she told the doctor, who nodded and squeezed her shoulder encouragingly as he left. "He's a fighter and stubborn, that's for sure," he told her.

Stella laughed as she cuffed her eyes, "You have no idea!"

She sat back down beside him, the sun shining through the window and across his face. "Mac? Mac can you hear me?" His breathing had grown more rapid, a slight frown creasing his damp forehead. Stella leaned hers down to his. She closed her eyes suddenly completely exhausted, the events of the prior day and the night-long vigil all crashing in. "Please Mac, don't quit on me now," she whispered. "I need you with me."

She felt a gentle pressure on her hand, and beneath her cheek she could feel his face tense. Her heart bounded. Raising her head, she could see his eyes were still closed, but a look of pain had stamped themselves on his handsome features again. Wild hope, happiness and terror all flooded through her at once. She gripped his hand and sensed the incredible struggle within him. Willing whatever strength she had to him and desperately wishing she could take some of his pain, she pleaded with him, "Come on Mac, come back to me."

_Pushing himself back up, he lifted his face to the sky. Everything had receded except the waves which crashed over him, the ever brightening sun, and her. She held him steady as he struggled to stay on his feet against the relentless pounding of the water. He took rapid, gasping breaths between each wave that poured over him and he felt himself breathe some of the water. He choked and tried to cough, but the pain of such actions turned the world white. He felt his knees buckle, but she held him up and whispered in his ear, "Come on Mac, come back to me." The sun burned, searingly bright. He gave a final cry and opened his eyes._

His hand tightened on hers with the same grip that he had held onto her with as he lay in the alley. Tears escaped down her face as Mac slowly opened his eyes. They were full of barely controlled panic and pain as he struggled to comprehend what was going on. She reached a hand to his face and his eyes found hers. She smiled at him through her tears, "Shh, Mac, it's ok, it's ok! I'm here, you're going to be ok." Stella wiped her face, happiness that she hadn't thought possible filling her. "You're going to be ok, Mac." The panic slowly left his eyes as they remained locked with hers and his body relaxed, but the grip on her hand stayed firm.


	10. Chapter 10

Here is the final chapter guys!!! YAY!! Sorry it took so long. I think I rewrote this about eight different ways before being satisfied with it, so hopefully you all like it! :)

* * *

**Chapter 10**

Mac turned the key in its lock and pushed his door open. Closing it carefully, he leaned against it and looked around at his silent apartment. It seemed like a life time ago that he had been here, and it wasn't just because he'd spent the last three weeks fighting for his life. He had changed. Or rather, he thought with some irony, change had been forced on him. Although, fate _could _have used less drastic measures than nearly killing him.

The first several days he had spent in the hospital hadn't really been days at all. They had been one timeless, never-ending blur of faces, noise and pain. Constant, gut-wrenching pain. He could hazily recall that they told him they were giving him medication to help, but all it really did was make him tired and take the edge off. He hadn't ever hurt that badly, not even when he had been injured in Beirut. He would drift in and out, sometimes actually sleeping, but mostly just in a drug induced, pain-filled fog.

He thought he might have easily lost his mind had it not been for Stella's constant presence. She had stayed by his side, leaving only long enough to eat, shower and check in on the lab. And he had been afraid. Afraid that she was staying as an obligation and as a friend. Afraid at how much he wanted that not to be the case. Afraid at how he knew it wasn't. And deathly afraid of how badly he wanted to step off the emotional precipice he had so careful kept himself on, towards her.

The struggle was almost as hard as the daily one he waged against his constant pain, physical and mental conflict fighting for the upper hand. One had to eventually give to the other. He simply couldn't cope with both. And one did.

_It had been about a week, when he had started having some serious problems breathing and it was discovered that one of the chest tubes had somehow gotten dislodged. They had had to do an emergency replacement. As his oxygen levels dropped and he struggled to breathe, they had secured his arm above his head and rapidly pulled the old tube. _

_As they quickly cleaned the area and injected a local anesthetic, Stella had gripped his forearm. "Hold on to me," she had told him quietly, her face full of anguish for him, but eyes firm. He had._

_It was quick. It worked. It hurt like hell._

_He lay, the head of his bed raised half-way to help his breathing. Every muscle in his face and neck were tight with barely suppressed pain. His eyes were squeezed shut, one hand still holding onto Stella, the other clenched in a fist at his side. Damp waves of hair were plastered to his forehead. Stella slid from the chair next to his bed and sat down beside him. Mac opened his eyes and looked at her. Stella could hardly stand the tortured look in them. His breathing was rapid and shallow as he instinctively tried to guard his broken ribs as well as the new pain coursing through him._

"_Shall I get your nurse?" she asked him quietly, knowing what the answer would be. Mac shook his head wordlessly as he closed his eyes again, the effort to contain his pain, too much for speech._

_Stella looked at him, tears sparkling in her eyes. She bent down to him and gently cradled the side of his head with her hand. "It's ok Mac," she told him softly. "Let it go. Let me take some of it for you."_

_He had squeezed his eyes tight in a mighty effort and a muted sound escaped his lips. Stella could almost see the internal argument he was having with himself._

"_Let it go Mac," she whispered. _

_With a sudden, small cry, he had pulled her close with his left arm, holding her tightly and desperately, and buried his face in her shoulder. He could only take so much. His gasping breaths were hot on her neck, and Stella held the back of his head close, gently supporting his shoulders with her other arm. His whole body was tight, and she could feel his muscles tense and spasm with each wave of pain that shot through him. _

_Time faded into meaningless non-existence for him as he held onto Stella. She gently stroked his hair and murmured words of encouragement in his ear. _

_Slowly the pain subsided and he was left limp and exhausted. He remained motionless, head resting on her shoulder. The struggle was over. He felt completely vulnerable and laid bare, yet as safe and at peace as he had ever known. It was an achingly familiar feeling, and one he had thought he had lost forever; one he had never dared hope, or, he was forced to admit, let himself find again. After Claire had been ripped from him, he had been too terrified of experiencing again the emotional pain such an unreserved surrender could precipitate. Only once before had he let all his defenses down, before securely locking that part of himself up. And, he thought with an ironic sense of fate, it had been with the woman who now held him, and had been there for him the whole time._

It had been easier after that. Although he still stubbornly internally dealt with the daily pain and recovery process, the simple knowledge that he didn't _have_ to, was enough. He felt free. But the fear also returned. The paranoid part of his brain refused to give up its nagging doubt that Stella felt anything more than a deep friendship for him.

_That's ludicrous,_ the other side of it told him, _Are you blind?!_

_But what if?_ the opposite side persisted.

_Are you blind and deaf?!_ the other side responded incredulously. _Have you seen how she looks you, the things she says, and,_ it reached over and smacked the opposition on the side of its head with a board, _have the last three weeks shown you NOTHING?!!!!_

The opposition cowered a bit, _Yeah, but what IF?!_

Mac sighed and rubbed his eyes. He made his way to his bedroom and fished out a pair of jeans. Taking off the scrubs he had pawned from the medical staff at the hospital so he could actually have something to wear on the way home, he pulled them on. They were looser than he had remembered, and he had to pull his belt a couple notches tighter. He gingerly pulled the scrub top over his head, wincing as his ribs stabbed him sharply. He looked at himself in the mirror and smiled wryly. Now, to accompany the scar he already had on his chest, he had added three bullet holes, along with their accompanying surgical lines. He shook his head, _stupid warm weather,_ he thought. Deciding that dealing with t-shirts was too painful and awkward at this point, he shrugged on an old button shirt.

His mind continued to race in circles as he tried to lay down and relax. But he was hopelessly restless. Giving up on books, TV and music all in turn, and not even having past mail to go through (Stella had been collecting it all for him _SEE!!!_ his brain interjected), he grabbed his coat and headed out.

* * *

Stella heard a knock on her office door. "Come in!" she said absently without looking up from her computer screen. Squinting at it and tracing the lines of a chart on the screen in the air in front of her, she remained completely oblivious to the person now standing just inside her door.

"I can come back if you prefer," a familiar voice said in a tone of amusement.

Stella's head whipped up at the sound. "Mac!" she exclaimed, standing up suddenly and knocking her chair backwards. "What are you doing here?! You weren't supposed to be let home until tomorrow!"

Mac stood there, small smile playing on his lips, and Stella could see how carefully he held himself against the residual pain from his injuries. "Well," he said slowly, "I guess the powers that be, decided that an extra 16 hours in their fine establishment wouldn't really make all that much of a difference." The half smile stayed, playing at the corners of his mouth as he walked slowly towards her.

Stella looked at him skeptically. "They decided? Or you made up their minds for them?"

Mac stopped and pretended to look hurt, "Stella! Would I?!"

"Yes, you would!" Stella told him emphatically with a grin as she came around her desk and wrapped him in big hug. She had a sudden thought, "Mac, don't tell me you took a taxi home?!" She looked at him despairingly, "You should've called me!"

Mac gave her that amused look again, as he saw the expression on her face. "Stella!" he said for the second time, "Would I?!"

Stella pointed her finger at him accusingly, "Yes, you would!"

Mac grinned, "Well, I didn't, if that makes you feel any better. Don happened to be up there when I got my discharge instructions and drove me."

Stella stepped back and looked at him wearing dark jeans and an untucked button shirt, and had a second sudden thought. "Wait, what did you wear home?" she asked quizzically. "You didn't have anything there with you except your boots."

"Surgical scrubs," he said, somewhat embarrassed, "And Don lent me his coat." He paused, "Don't you have enough blackmail material on me already?"

Stella looked deviously at him, "And don't you forget it!"

They both fell silent, eyes locked with each other, memories of the last three weeks zooming between them.

Mac broke the silence first. "Stella," he said quietly.

She searched his face. It had a level of both peace and turmoil, and he looked at her with absolute tenderness.

Mac looked down briefly and then found Stella's eyes again, "I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you." She started to say something but he stopped her, raising his hand slightly. "Stell, you don't have to say anything. I just…" he broke off and shook his head desperately, words escaping him.

Stella crossed the small space between them and placed her hand on his cheek, raising his eyes back to hers. "No, Mac. _You_ don't have to say anything."

He stood there, unmoving, enjoying the feeling of her fingers on his face. Then he slowly reached out and gently brushed a stray curl off her face. "Thank you," he said simply and quietly. The moment stretched into an unspoken, emotionally filled silence. There was simply no way to express in words what had happened during those weeks.

Stella's phone ringing, broke the moment, and they both jumped slightly and laughed. They grinned at each other shyly and Stella walked back behind her desk and answered it.

"Bonesara…"

"Ok, thanks Adam, that's brilliant!…"

"Yeah, if you could drop those off that would be awesome!..."

"Yep, bye!"

As she hung up the phone, Stella looked at Mac slyly, "So, does this mean I don't owe you dinner anymore?"

Mac folded his arms gingerly across his chest and smiled at her coy look. _To hell with it _his brain said, the opposing little voice squawking as it was given a final bludgeon. He walked around the desk towards her, "Now, you can't weasel out of it _that _easily!"

Stella's heart stood still as Mac closed the inches between them.

"Besides," he breathed as he reached for her hair again, "You couldn't leave a poor…"

He leaned in closer…

"… recovering…"

_…the inches were turning into millimeters…_

"…gravely injured might I add…"

_…a piece of paper could barely have fit between them…_

"…lonely police officer injured in the line of duty to fend for himself."

His eyes bored into hers, and Stella thought her heart would pound out of her chest.

"No," she managed, with a minute shake of her head. There was no room but for the barest of motions. "I couldn't."

"So, is that a yes?" he asked, repeating the question she had never gotten to answer that warm, sunny morning.

"It is," she replied.

Mac's hand snaked around the back of her neck and leaned down to meet her lips, closing the microscopic distance that was left between them.


End file.
